


boom!

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is in the <i>bomb squad</i>. How many bomb threats do they really get every day? What do they even do in their downtime? Do they sit around in a circle and talk about their favourite kinds of bombs, and share stories over a bonfire? Because if so, that sounds kind of nice. Grantaire is definitely in the wrong department.</p><p>(Or, the one where Enjolras saves Grantaire from being blown up, and there are dumb love confessions.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	boom!

“Right. Now I need you to cut the blue wire, Detective Grantaire,” Enjolras’ voice is steady in his ear, and normally that would be enough to anchor him and make him feel calmer, but his palms are sweating and his hands are shaking, and fuck, he’s not drunk enough for this.

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asks, just to give himself more time to steady himself. “I need you to be very sure, Apollo.”

“I am,” Enjolras says, and he sounds annoyed, sounds offended that Grantaire would question his expertise, and Grantaire is pretty sure that Captain Valjean asked Enjolras to keep him calm. “Nothing is going to happen, cut the blue wire, Detective Grantaire.”

With Enjolras, it’s always _Detective Grantaire_ at work, and always in that tone, that impatient tone that tells Grantaire that Enjolras has plenty of better things to do than to hang around Grantaire, which cannot really be true because he’s in the _bomb squad_. How many bomb threats do they really get every day? What do they even do in their downtime? Do they sit around in a circle and talk about their favourite kinds of bombs, and share stories over a bonfire? Because if so, that sounds kind of nice. Grantaire is definitely in the wrong department. If he gets out of this alive, he’ll ask for a transfer. Not that they’ll give it to him, because he knows nothing about dismantling bombs, but he’ll ask for one anyway, just for the principle of it. 

He knows that Enjolras dislikes him, _actively_ dislikes him, and he isn’t even sure what he ever did to Enjolras. Sure, he’s tried a few pick-up lines on Enjolras, and sure, he likes to antagonise him by always arguing the opposite side of whatever new cause Enjolras is trying to preach, but he doesn’t think that Enjolras would hate him enough to purposely blow him up, and that’s a comforting thought. It makes it a lot easier to tell himself that he’s going to be alright if he just listens to Enjolras.

“ _Detective Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras’ voice snaps him out of his reverie. 

“Right, fuck, blue wire,” Grantaire says. “Do I just cut it anywhere? Closer to the top? Bottom? Fuck, are we even sure I have the right wire? Is this wire blue? What if it’s just a really odd shade of green? Fuck.”

“You’re panicking,” Enjolras says, and his voice is quiet now, calmer, almost thoughtful. 

The laughter that bubbles out from Grantaire is a little bit hysterical. “Of course I’m panicking,” Grantaire tells Enjolras. “I’m supposed to disarm a bomb, or risk having myself and thirty-seven other hostages blown up. I think I am well in my rights to panic.”

He squints down at the bomb, at the blue wire he’s got his hand on. It’s definitely blue, there’s no way he could mistake it for another colour, and he’d like to think that he has a good eye for colour, but things go wrong sometimes, colour can be really subjective. What if Enjolras meant to ask him to cut the green wire instead? What if Enjolras is colour blind? 

“Fuck, are you colour blind?” Grantaire blurts out. 

Enjolras heaves a sigh, and he sounds almost patient when he says, “I’m _bomb squad_.”

“You’re not answering the question,” Grantaire grits out. 

“I’m not colour blind, for God’s sake Grantaire,” Enjolras snaps. “Now please, will you cut the blue wire? I promise everything is going to be fine.”

Grantaire brings the blade of his small pocket knife to rest on the blue wire. 

He trusts Enjolras, he really, really does, but his heart is beating thrice its normal rate, and he can feel beads of sweat making their way down the side of his face, and he isn’t trained to do this, he really, really isn’t, why is he doing this? 

“Just in case,” Grantaire says. “Just in case anything goes wrong, can you tell Jehan to take Napoleon in? I know Jehan hates that he barks a lot, but if anyone can convince Jehan to do something, it’ll probably be you. Tell Eponine I’m sorry that I’m a shit partner, and I love her, and that I’m sorry for all the paperwork she’s going to have to do for this case. And oh, fuck, I owe Bahorel and Joly and Bossuet fifty bucks each. I lost a bet. I can still pay them the money, right? My estate will do it, right?”

“Detective Grantaire—”

“Fuck, please just let me finish?” Grantaire cuts Enjolras off with. “This might be my last will and testament, can you just not interrupt me and let me say my fill for once?” He doesn’t give Enjolras the time to reply, just continues babbling. “I don’t have much, only my apartment and my car, but you should still be able to get a tidy sum from the sale? They go to Gavroche and Azelma’s education. That’ll stop Eponine from worrying all the damned time.” He pauses and laughs. “Fuck, she’s going to hate me for dying.”

“You’re not going to die,” Enjolras says firmly. “Not on my watch. I’m not going to let you die.”

“I love you,” Grantaire blurts out. “ _Fuck_. Fuck, that wasn’t how I meant to say it. I wasn’t ever going to say anything, but hey, I might die, so there’s a good enough reason to throw caution to the wind as any, I suppose, so yeah, I love you. I have loved you since _forever_ , and that’s probably a little creepy, and you probably don’t believe me, but I do, I do so much, and I swear, if I don’t get blown into pieces by this bomb, I will ask you to let me kiss you. It wouldn’t even matter if you reject me and stop speaking to me ever again, because fuck, could that be worse than almost getting blown into pieces? I think not.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says firmly. “Grantaire, you have less than a minute. Cut the fucking blue wire right now.”

“There should be a _detective_ in there somewhere,” Grantaire says, and sniggers a little at that, because that’s a Jack Sparrow reference, he’s on the brink of death and still making Jack Sparrow references, what the fuck is wrong with him? 

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras growls. 

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and cuts the blue wire. 

A second goes by, then another, three seconds, four, five, more seconds. Grantaire slowly opens his eyes, still holding his breath.

“Clear,” he croaks out, and hears Enjolras breathe a sigh.

He sags against the wall when he hears the first crack of glass, SWAT coming in, probably, now that the bomb has been disarmed, and the windows won’t blow up upon pressure. 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire says, because having Enjolras in his ear was comforting, and while he would understand if he’s ruined all chances at a friendship with Enjolras, he really wants to hear Enjolras’ voice right now.

“I told you it was going to be fine,” Enjolras says. 

Then, “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Then, “Ask me.”

Grantaire blinks. “Ask you what?”

“Ask me to let you kiss me,” Enjolras says, voice quiet. “You said you would.”

Grantaire tries not to hope, because Enjolras cannot be saying what he thinks Enjolras is trying to say to him, but he scrambles onto his feet immediately anyway, and heads straight for the nearest exit.

“Are you still outside?” Grantaire asks, and how is it that his palms are sweaty and his nerves are all jumbled up again? He’s already dismantled a bomb today, there’s literally nothing he can do wrong now. “Am I good to come out now?”

Enjolras answers in the affirmative. 

It doesn’t take long for Grantaire to find Enjolras. He’s sitting on the curb of the road by the cathedral, scowling, as usual, next to where some police cruisers are parked. 

“You’re an idiot,” Enjolras says again when Grantaire gets within hearing range. “What were you thinking, going in there alone?”

“We couldn’t all wait. Someone had to do something.” Grantaire shrugs, and sits down next to Enjolras, close enough that their shoulders brush. “In hindsight, I really wouldn’t have gone in if I’d known about the explosive, trust me on that.”

“I asked to be the one to guide you through it, when bomb squad was deployed,” Enjolras says after a short pause, “when I found out it was you stuck in the cathedral.”

Grantaire turns to look at Enjolras, but Enjolras is still staring steadily ahead, not looking at Grantaire.

“I was so worried,” Enjolras says, and swallows, takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why?” Grantaire breathes out. 

Enjolras finally turns to meet Grantaire’s eyes. “Ask me,” he murmurs.

Grantaire reaches out slowly to cup Enjolras’ face, brushing his thumb lightly over his cheekbone. “Will you let me kiss you?” he asks, heart in his throat. 

Enjolras leans in to press their lips together, firm but chaste, lingering for a moment before he pulls away. 

“You’re an idiot,” Enjolras says, and this is the third time Grantaire has heard it today, but the first time it’s ever sounded fond and soft and so full of reverence. “I’ve never been subtle in expressing my feelings for you. You were just never watching.”

“ _What_.”

“Grantaire, I stop by Organised Crimes _every other day_ ,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes. “What business could I possibly have with Organised Crimes that would require me to stop by every other day? I traded all my lunch breaks so they would coincide with yours. I’ve tried to ask you out so many times, but we’d always end up arguing before I could get to it.”

“ _You_ have feelings for _me_ ,” Grantaire says. 

Enjolras crooks a smile at that. “Since forever,” he tells Grantaire, echoing Grantaire’s words from earlier, and his smile only grows when Grantaire reaches out to slot their fingers together. “You probably have a ton of explaining to do back at the precinct.”

Grantaire grimaces. “And a ton of paperwork after that.”

Enjolras nods. “And Eponine probably won’t let you out of her sight for a little while.”

Grantaire considers that. “They’ll have to clear the scene first,” he says, checking his watch. “I probably won’t be missed for the next hour or two.”

“That’s generous,” Enjolras says, grinning. “Thirty minutes at best.”

“We could still go grab lunch in thirty minutes,” Grantaire reasons, tightening his hold on Enjolras’ hand. He doesn’t ever want to have to let go. “A thirty minute pizza lunch?”

Enjolras smiles, squeezing Grantaire’s hand in his. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, come say hi! :D
> 
> (Shhhhh, let's pretend I don't actually know nothing about bomb disposal.)


End file.
